Red Shoes

For roses and thorns you gave,

And snow and glimmer of its white

And the ice and fire of night,

I don’t I won’t blame you,

But the dance in red shoes.

 

For hair entangled in your fingers

And blush and the red in rush

And silence that sunk me into bloodless death,

I don’t I won’t blame you,

But the dance in red shoes.

 

For distance and mute and different soil,

Nights consumed by my bloody stare,

Music that pitches a high weep

And the painting of dark idle sheep

I don’t I won’t blame you,

I blame your cheerful dance in red shoes.

 

For all that red could have been,

My heart raises a new spring

And covers that color with new skin.

 

For all that red could have colored,

I don’t I won’t blame you,

But your dance in circles in your red shoes.

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